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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616925">Fleeting Melodies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eksley05/pseuds/eksley05'>eksley05</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, M/M, Work In Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2015-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:47:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eksley05/pseuds/eksley05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of tiny stories inspired by and written to the length of songs. Varied content, varied relationships, periodically updated whenever I get an idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman/Wendy Testaburger, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Christophe "The Mole", Kyle Broflovski/Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Spaceball Ricochet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally published on FFNet on February 5, 2015. This definitely will keep getting updated, but it doesn't have a consistent schedule or anything. I also welcome idea suggestions/song suggestions, so feel free.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: Spaceball Ricochet<br/>Inspiration: Spaceball Ricochet by T. Rex.<br/>Words: 313</strong>
</p><hr/><p>Nobody notices Kenny McCormick.</p><p>Oh, sure, in the most general sense of the word possible, he's noticed. He's noticed enough for Clyde to beg him for the answers to whatever homework assignment the brunet had forgotten to do. He's noticed enough for Cartman to throw the latest insult he's thought of in the blond's direction. But on a deeper level, not just the superficial one, he may as well be invisible.</p><p>And it's tragic, really, because Kenny, out of everyone in the fucked up little mountain town of South Park, possibly out of everyone in the world, knows how to fix all the situations that are currently plaguing his friends and neighbours. Not being noticed means he can listen in on whatever conversations he wants to, so he hears everything everyone says, from Stan's Wendy woes to Butters' parental problems, to little Flora the kindergarten girl's missing doll. And he's smart enough to know how to solve everything, but nobody really pays enough attention to him to ever think of asking him for advice. He's just some kid, he's there, he dies, he comes back, and life goes on.</p><p>Not that he has a problem with any of that, in all honesty. It only bothers him when he's having a really bad day, but since middle school, those days are fewer and farther between. On a good day, Kenny is perfectly content with just watching and listening. In his honest opinion, he'd rather it be this way, because he believes that, when you're on the outside of life and not the inside, it's so much easier to just let go and be happy. That's why he smiles and lets Clyde copy his homework every morning, that's why he laughs and shrugs off everything Cartman has to say to him.</p><p>He may be insignificant, but he's happier than any of them will ever be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Under Your Spell/Standing (Reprise)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: Under Your Spell/Standing<br/>Inspiration: Under Your Spell/Standing (Reprise) - Buffy the Vampire Slayer - <em>Once More with Feeling<br/></em>Words: 207</strong>
</p><hr/><p>Covering her face with her hands, Wendy rushes out of KFC, leaving Cartman alone in the booth they had been sitting in just seconds before. She's crying, trying her hardest not to let anyone see the tears streaming down her face. He's looking down at his full tray, not feeling any desire to eat. It's over, he knows it, and it's his fault. He's the one who betrayed Wendy's trust, not, as many had predicted, the other way around.</p><p>On the other side of the same restaurant, Kyle is just sliding into a booth opposite Christophe. He's chattering away happily, completely oblivious to Christophe's obvious discomfort. He has no way of knowing his good mood is about to do a complete one eighty, all because the French boy has, over the course of several weeks, thought long and hard about their relationship. All his thoughts have culminated in the belief that Kyle does not need him, and that, were their relationship to continue, it would only be for his selfish reasons. Kyle, he believes, deserves better, and now, Christophe thinks, leaning forward slightly, taking one last, long look at the redhead, all he has to do is tell him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Breakfast At Tiffany's</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Title: Breakfast at Tiffany's<br/></span>
  <span>Inspiration: Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something<br/></span>
  <span>Words: 215</span>
</p><hr/><p>Craig Tucker: dark-haired, dark-eyed, badass douchebag.</p><p>Tweek Tweak: blonde, green-eyed, paranoid caffeinated mess of a human being.</p><p>Of course they couldn't have lasted. What did they have in common? Craig was the sort of person who would get home from school (if he'd bothered to go that day), slip on some headphones, lay down on his bed and shut out the world with some Metallica. Tweek was the sort of person who would read the newspaper in the morning and shriek and worry about everything going on over in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or wherever the latest war was, like he was certain he was going to be the one to die next.</p><p>They were nothing alike. No two people were farther from each other on the personality spectrum. Not even Kyle and Cartman. The one thing, the <em>only</em> thing, Craig and Tweek agreed upon, was Red Racer. That had been their entire basis for starting a relationship: they were the only two who loved that show <em>that</em> much, that had to mean there could be something between them, they shared a love for Red Racer so how could they not share love for each other?</p><p>Clyde had given it two months. Token hadn't even given it one.</p><p>Two weeks later, Token was ten dollars richer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sleeping Giant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: Sleeping Giant<br/></strong>
  <strong>Inspiration: The entrance music of a TNA wrestler<br/>Words: 171</strong>
</p><hr/><p>"Careful," Stan whispered from behind Kyle, as the redhead tiptoed across the room.</p><p>"I'm being careful," Kyle hissed back. The two teenagers reached their target, and Stan, who was the taller of the two, crouched down and started rummaging through the piles of clothing on the floor. Kyle, who was shorter and therefore less easy to spot while he was standing, stood guard. "See it yet?"</p><p>"No." Stan moved to push a pile of T-shirts away, but the pile was, in fact, of DVDs with just one T-shirt covering them. The stack of movies fell with a crash, Stan letting out an involuntary gasp and scrambling backwards across the floor.</p><p>"Shit!" Kyle whispered frantically, tugging on Stan's arm, pulling his friend to his feet. "Let's go!" They were halfway to the door when and from behind them came first a sleepy groan, followed by an angry, "<em>Ay</em>!"</p><p>A light flickered on, revealing Eric Cartman sitting up in bed. And he was pissed."What the fuck are you two doing in my room?!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Last Friday Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>
        <strong>Title: Last Friday Night<br/></strong>
        <strong>Inspiration: </strong>
        <strong>Last</strong>
        <strong> Friday Night by Katy Perry (by request)<br/>Words: 687</strong>
      </p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Weird shit happened at Bebe's parties, Kenny decided, surveying his surroundings.</p>
      <p>More than half of the senior class was sprawled on the living room carpet in various positions and states of disarray. Empty alcohol bottles littered what empty space there was, while bottles that still carried some liquid sat haphazardly on the table. The scent of vodka mixed with - what was it? Kenny squinted, trying to remember what drinks Wendy had been peddling all night, but his head was pounding so much memory recovery appeared to definitely not be an option. Fantastic - his first party, and he'd gotten so drunk he couldn't recall any of it.</p>
      <p>He shifted his weight both in an attempt to ease what he was pretty sure was a hangover, and to try to find Kyle amongst the bodies on the floor. He'd promised the redhead he would come to this party if Kyle would finally actually help him with their history project, and since he'd held up his end of the bargain - astoundingly well, he thought - Kyle could stop making out with Stan long enough to honor his.</p>
      <p>Three things happened when Kenny moved: one, his whole body heaved and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting; two, he realized that he wasn't alone on the Stevens' big brown couch; and three, Clyde, letterman jacket barely on one shoulder, poked his head through the entryway to the kitchen, bellowing, "<em>Margaritas</em>!", disappearing as quickly as he came.</p>
      <p>Kenny winced at the sound, and beside him he heard a small, "Y - you okay, there, Ken - Kenny?"</p>
      <p>That voice. He knew that voice. With that voice, last Friday night's memories flooded his brain, playing over and over so quickly they almost blurred together.</p>
      <p>Kenny, arriving at the party with Kyle, who made a beeline for Stan, abandoning Kenny at the front door. Kenny, in his blue checkered shirt, too-short pants, and glasses nobody had ever known he had, trying so hard to not stand out that he drank an entire two-six of vodka, and a few of Wendy's vodka Kool-Aid monstrosities. Kenny, getting so blindingly drunk that when he saw little, innocent, blond Butters staring wistfully at the star of the Park High football team, he thought he had the <em>best idea ever</em>.</p>
      <p>"Clyde <em>loooooves</em> blonde chicks," he remembered slurring as he dragged Butters upstairs, opening every door until he found what he assumed was Bebe's room. "This's <em>perfect</em>."</p>
      <p>Half an hour, the remainder of a bottle of hairspray, and what seemed like two tons of makeup and glitter later, Kenny stepped back to admire his handiwork. Butters sat on the edge of Bebe's bed, awkwardly looking around the room, and Kenny was reminded of years ago, and Marjorine. He smiled, a confident drunk smile, and grabbed Butters' hand, pulling him out of the room and downstairs, intending to thrust him at Clyde triumphantly.</p>
      <p>But Clyde was already too busy sticking his tongue down Bebe's throat. Kenny stopped abruptly, Butters colliding into him before seeing Clyde for himself. He'd looked so sad, Kenny remembered now, so <em>pathetically</em> sad, that Kenny couldn't help but get angry at Clyde for ruining his perfect plan. Obviously now they just had to make Clyde jealous so he could see what he was missing.</p>
      <p>Drunk logic is the best logic. Drunk logic is what made Kenny grab Butters with both hands and kiss him. He'd never kissed a guy before, but fuck it, Clyde needed to be taught a lesson, and anyway, Butters looked like a girl, so it was fine.</p>
      <p>Drunk logic.</p>
      <p>Pulling away, Kenny shot a glance at Clyde, who was still otherwise occupied with the hostess. Clearly, it was time for more drastic measures.</p>
      <p>"K - Kenny?" Butters' voice jolted him out of his reverie, and, ignoring his hangover headache, Kenny looked over at where Butters lay curled up half on top of him, with eyeshadow and glitter smeared all over his face and messy pigtails, and smiled, despite the pain, history project and Kyle totally forgotten.</p>
      <p>Yup, weird shit happened at Bebe's parties.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. If Life Is So Short</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: If Life Is So Short</strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>Inspiration: If Life Is So Short by The Moffatts</strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>Words: 236</strong>
</p><hr/><p>"Butters, no." Kenny shakes his head, doing everything he can to avoid looking directly at the other blond. "I can't. I can't keep doing this to you."</p><p>A sniffle. Kenny lets his too-long hair fall in front of his face so Butters can't see him grit his teeth and blink back his own tears. "I'm sorry." The words come out in a whisper. "I can't keep hurting you."</p><p>"B - but." Another sniffle, then: "Is - isn't it up t - to <em>me</em>, if I can h - handle it?" Butters' voice is shaky, but there's a hint of stubbornness there too. "And if I f - feel like I can do it, well, gosh, then that's my - my choice, isn't it?"</p><p>Kenny forces himself to look up, into Butters' eyes, shiny with tears not yet fallen. "But I know what it does to you," he says, pushing his hair out of his face with both hands. "When I <em>die</em>." They both flinch at the word, and it's Butters who recovers first.</p><p>"W - well," he begins, stuttering a little bit. "I get real s - sad, but that's 'cause, well, 'cause I <em>love</em> you, Kenny, and if I can even have just - just a little bit of time with you, well, I want that." He takes a breath, then adds, "Darn it," almost as an afterthought, reaching out and clasping Kenny's hand tightly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Hardest Part</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: The Hardest Part<br/>Inspiration: The Hardest Part by Coldplay<br/>Words: 255<br/></strong>
</p><hr/><p>With shaky hands I fill the shot glass on the floor in front of me with flavored vodka. About half of it spills on the floor, but I ignore that as I pick up the glass and throw back the shot. It's my eighth in a row, but the alcohol has done nothing to dull my pain.</p><p>
  <em>I d - don't want to be with - ghh! - you.</em>
</p><p>The words echo in my head as I pour myself another shot. As the liquid burns my throat on the way down, I close my eyes, vaguely registering that I'm still crying, and lean back against my bed, my legs splayed out in front of me. I have no idea what time it is, where my parents are, or even what day it is.</p><p>No. I know what day it is. It's the day he left me, with no explanation, just one sentence and a twitch. He was gone before I'd even had a chance to process.</p><p>I reach out with my right hand, grasp the neck of the vodka bottle tightly, and bring it to my lips. I want it to do what it's supposed to do, to make me forget the last two years, but it's not working. I can't stop thinking about him, I can't stop thinking about how I can't stop thinking about him, and I can't stop thinking about how I will never be the same without him.</p><p>I take another swig of the coffee-flavored vodka, and fall back into memories.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chained To You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: Chained to You<br/>Inspiration: 'Chained to You' by Savage Garden<br/>Words: 463</strong>
</p><hr/><p>Christophe DeLorne was a mercenary, and a damn good one at that. Part of what cemented his infamy was his incredible sense of control, something he'd - unfortunately - achieved after the War That Never Was; it was the guard dog situation that had spurred that aspect of his training. Ever since, he'd been able to compartmentalize, and always remain in the moment no matter what emotions were whirling around inside him.</p><p>With one exception (because isn't there always one?).</p><p>Kyle Broflovski was redheaded, Jewish, and his IQ was through the roof. It fascinated Christophe to just watch how Kyle interacted with everyone around him; truthfully, Kyle was the entire reason he'd joined the group of guys in the first place. He hadn't come across anyone so smart, so <em>clever</em>, in his whole life. He would sit silently when they were all together, just studying Kyle, trying to figure out how he, out of everyone in the whole stupid mountain town, had managed to retain the level of intelligence he had.</p><p>The first time Christophe kissed Kyle, it hadn't been planned. They'd all been at Bebe's house, on a Friday night, Christophe only there to try to understand why someone as smart as Kyle enjoyed these parties. The redhead, Stan, and Kenny had been standing together talking, Christophe off to the side, straining to hear the conversation over the grating voice of Madonna.</p><p>Kyle was in the middle of a trademark rant, about something happening in the news, and it was clear that Stan and Kenny weren't paying attention. Kyle stopped, in the middle of a sentence, and glared at his friends who both had their eyes on Wendy and Lola, dancing in the middle of the room. Kyle cleared his throat loudly, and when that failed to produce a result, huffed, rolled his eyes, and turned, catching Christophe's gaze as he did.</p><p>The mercenary was caught off guard, but recovered quickly with a small smirk and a shrug. Kyle, automatically assuming he was being made fun of, marched over until he was right in front of him, and demanded, "What?"</p><p>Christophe leaned forward, his intention to speak to Kyle without having to yell over the awful music, but at the last second making a different move instead. It didn't last long, barely a few seconds, and Kyle was the one to pull away. He blinked up at Christophe, looking more confused than anything else, before simply walking away from him.</p><p>It took everything he had for Christophe to stop himself from following. He could not for the life of him figure out why he had done what he had, but he also could not ignore what kissing Kyle had done to him.</p><p>He needed to learn everything he could about this redhead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Honestly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: Honestly<br/>Inspiration: Honestly by Breathe Electric<br/>Words: 405</strong>
</p><hr/><p>It takes great courage to break up with somebody you love.</p><p>But that's exactly what Kenny has done.</p><p>There isn't anything wrong with either of them. It isn't that sort of breakup, where someone dumps the other because of a specific event. No, when it comes to the end of the one-and-a-half-year relationship of Kenny and Kyle, there has been no catalyst but time.</p><p>Time has always been Kenny's enemy.</p><p>He dies roughly three times a month, and each time he does, time slows down and his whole life plays like a video on fast forward. He's had three times a month for the last 548 days to watch his relationship with Kyle start off great, exciting, new and fantastic, but quickly turn to dull, repetitive, monotonous, and boring. It had taken him over six months to really realize that they were clearly not meant to be, and another three to do something about it.</p><p>He hadn't wanted to. Being with Kyle was so easy, and it wasn't that Kenny disliked the redhead's company, or Kyle himself. Kenny loves him, loves being with him, always had and still does. The blond's hesitation was because Kyle had done something nobody else had: he was the first person to ever love Kenny back.</p><p>Because he did, he really did, and the breakup, it will be discovered in the next few weeks, has broken Kyle like nobody had ever thought possible.</p><p>As Kenny walks out the front door, closing it behind him as softly as he can, the part of him that feels like he'll never be loved again wants to run back and tell Kyle he's changed his mind. The other part, though, the part of Kenny that made the decision to end things in the first place, knows it was the best choice. Kyle will be okay, he'll go on to find the person who will make his life exciting every day, the person who can be for him who Kenny couldn't.</p><p>And Kenny himself? Eventually, he knows, it will hurt less, it will just take time. For most people, time would heal the pain while blurring the memories. But for Kenny, it's different.</p><p>He stops as he comes to the train tracks that separate his world from the rest of South Park's, tilting his head to look in the direction of the oncoming train.</p><p>Time might heal the pain, but he'll have his memories forever.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. All Out Of Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="xcontrast">
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>
        <strong>Title: All Out of Love</strong><br/>
<strong>Inspiration: All Out of Love by Air Supply</strong><br/>
<strong>Words: 379</strong>
      </p>
<hr/><p>"Born from the chaos that drenches my world.<br/>
Never would have found you without<br/>
Suffering through the tangles of dark emptiness."</p><p>
        <em>South Park the tiny mountain town was an ever-changing, entirely unpredictable mess of a place to live. At any given moment aliens could land, zombies could rise, talking towels could appear out of nowhere to offer you unwanted advice, a certain resident could die one day to be walking around perfectly healthy the next - and those were just a few examples.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But through everything, there was one constant, one thing that, minus a hiccup of time back when they were in elementary school, had never changed, and that was Stan and Wendy.</em>
      </p><p>"Entwined like tentacles pulling ever closer<br/>
We lived as the eye of the storm,<br/>
Suffocating in each other's beauty."</p><p>
        <em>From the moment she first said hi to him and Stan spewed a stream of vomit directly at her, he knew that Wendy was his forever. How had he known? She was the first girl to not instill cootie-fear in him, he wanted to be around her even though it caused his stomach so much grief, everything that she said was somehow exactly what he had been thinking, and the list went on…</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Fifteen years, they had been together - through middle school, high school, and even college. Everyone else - even Kyle - had drifted in and out of Stan's life, sometimes disappearing for years at a time; Wendy lost touch with everyone except Bebe, and even those two only talked once at month at best. But the Marsh boy and the Testaburger girl never lost each other.</em>
      </p><p>"But time is the cruelest lover<br/>
And lured me with its song, your song<br/>
And now my heart cries crimson."</p><p>
        <em>The night of their fifteenth anniversary, Stan had been reaching into his pocket for a small box when Wendy broke up with him.</em>
      </p><p>"I'm sliced to the core. Wounded by your<br/>
Betrayal I retreat to the darkness and<br/>
Razorblades pierce my skin."</p><p>He finishes reading, and looks up, brushing a lock of black hair out of his eyes. Slowly, each member of his tiny audience gives a small nod.</p><p>"It needs work," says the only female, raising a cigarette to her lips. "But it's a good start."</p></div></div></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. I Don't Know You Anymore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>Title: I Don't Know You Anymore<br/></strong> <strong>Inspiration: I Don't Know You Anymore by Savage Garden<br/></strong> <strong>Words: 254</strong></p><p><strong>A/N:<br/></strong>You know, the only downside to these little stories is that the songs never seem long enough.</p><hr/><p>"Hello?"</p><p>Craig grips his cell phone tightly in his hand. "Hey," he says, knowing the word is painfully, woefully inadequate. You can't just say "hey" to someone you haven't spoken to in a year like nothing's changed.</p><p>The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. Craig wants to check the screen to see if he's been hung up on, but he doesn't want to miss any potential response, so he just switches hands, wiping his sweaty palm on his jeans, and waits.</p><p>"H- ghh! - Hi." Tweek's voice, as strained as ever, finally comes through the speaker.</p><p>Craig breathes a silent sigh of relief at the sound. If Tweek had hung up on him, he isn't sure he would have had the nerve to call again. "How are you?" Another completely inadequate thing to say given how he'd left things, and without waiting for a response, he continues, "Uh, I was thinking, I have some vacation time I need to use up before the end of the year, and I thought, you know maybe…" His voice trails off as he picks up a framed picture off the coffee table next to him. "Maybe I could come up for coffee?"</p><p>"Oh, Jesus," Tweek is nearly whispering, but the clear message in those two words shoots straight through to Craig's heart, loud and clear. "I don't think-"</p><p>"Tweek," Craig interrupts, a note of desperation creeping into his tone. "I - It would just be - really great to see you." <em>Please, Tweeker, please.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Haven't Had Enough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Title: Haven't Had Enough<br/>
Inspiration: Haven't Had Enough by Mariana's Trench<br/>
Words: 484</strong>
</p><p><strong>A/N: </strong>And then, sometimes there seems to be all the time in the world. This, actually, can be taken as a continuation of <em>Cargo Pants and Blacklight Lust</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>"No." Kyle swallows hard, shaking his head slowly but determinedly. He runs both hands through his red curls before crossing his arms and backing away from Christophe. "No," he repeats. "This is not happening again."</p><p>Christophe smirks slightly, cocking his head, and leans against the outside wall of his house next to his back door. He rests his chin on one hand and inquires, "Zen why are you 'ere, exactly?" The tone of his voice implies that he knows exactly why Kyle is outside his house at two in the morning on a Tuesday.</p><p>"I…" <em>Fuck</em>. Kyle tilts his chin skyward, watching the stars as he searches for something, anything to say that isn't the truth. He can't tell Christophe the truth. "It's wrong. Stan <em>loves</em> me." <em>And you don't</em>, he finishes in his head, hating how much he hates the truth in those last three words.</p><p>None of this was supposed to happen. And then when it did, it was only supposed to be one time. And then it happened again, and again. And now here they were, six months later, both of them cheating on their significant others constantly, and for what? A few minutes of satisfaction every couple of nights, followed by absolute soul-crushing guilt? It's not worth it.</p><p>That's the argument Kyle has with himself every time he makes the moonlight walk from his house to Christophe's, but lately it's been getting more and more difficult to keep fighting it. Because somewhere along the way, he'd fallen for the French mercenary, <em>hard</em>. The last time he'd been here, he'd actually come dangerously close to telling Christophe he <em>loved</em> him, for Christ's sake. He needs to stop now before things get worse.</p><p>"Ah." Christophe says, and Kyle lowers his gaze to see a thoughtful look on the other teen's face. "But do <em>you </em>love '<em>im</em>?"</p><p>Kyle feels his face heat up. He instinctively wants to sputter out an indignant, "Of course I love him," but hesitates. "He's my best friend," he says, finally, softly. "I can't keep doing this to him for nothing."</p><p>His words hang heavy in the air between the two of them for a minute. Christophe mutters something to himself in French. Kyle looks down at the ground, shivering as the cold October wind swirls around him.</p><p>"If you wish me to," Christophe says, "I will leave McCormick."</p><p>Kyle's head snaps up, and he just stares at the mercenary, who is looking off to the side.</p><p>"Of course," Christophe continues nonchalantly. "If I do zat, zen you must also leave ze Marsh boy." His dark eyes meet Kyle's wide green ones. "If we are to 'ave more zan nothing, zat is."</p><p>Kyle nods, slowly at first, and then more vigorously as Christophe's words sink in.</p><p>The smirk is back, and Christophe holds out his hand, beckoning Kyle closer. "I zink, Broflovski, zat we 'ave some unfinished business?"</p>
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